


Soup for Martyrs

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Preacher Kink Meme, Prompt Fic, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fill for the preacherkinkmeme prompt: </p>
<p>“In the first ep when Jesse’s waking up to Emily sitting at his bedside, she says he was ‘out a while this time’ and but she wasn’t worried because his fever was going down, like this was normal for her. So now I want sick!fic with Jesse who’s got a weak immune system and he gets the flu twice a year and pneumonia almost every winter and colds and hay fever and what have you. He hates feeling weak so he always works thru it, but the others learned to spot the symptoms and try to take care of him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup for Martyrs

Cassidy had honestly never expected to see Annville in winter. Why would he? Should’ve been gone as quick as it took him to snatch some car keys and a wad of cash... wasn’t expecting a preacher and a minx of a woman to complicate things. Keep him tethered. So he’d stayed, and what had once been warm weather had quickly turned to scorching, then broiling, damn near hot as hell, before tapering back off into warm…until now the days were what might be termed cool, at least during the time bookending dusk and dawn. It was a right nice change of pace.

 

He’d crafted the kitchen counter into a window seat (dumping everything in his way into the sink) and had cooked himself up some of the weakest coffee humanity had ever known. Despite that, Cass was honestly enjoying himself, watching the back of the church for a bit of new scenery. The grass had long since died and the one tree he could see from here had maybe three leaves left to its name. Still kind of pretty though. Hell, _he_ was a dead thing and the world would be blessed to ever find a more handsome fucker.

 

Cass grinned at his reflection. “Gotta find me some more sweaters in that poor man’s bin. Speaking of...”

 

He caught sight of the fuzzy reflection right before a series of truly awful coughs echoed through the kitchen. Cass turned to find Jesse shuffling in, wrapped in the most god-awful black sweater and looking like he’d lost a fight against the damn Bubonic Plague. From pale cheeks to a fire-engine nose, Jesse looked so bad that Cass actually recoiled before he remembered that he wasn’t gonna get sick. Lovely vamp immune system was good for something after all.

 

“Morning,” Jesse rasped. He leaned heavily on the counter beside Cass, eyeing the sink like he was vaguely thinking of barfing in it.

 

Cass picked his jaw up off the floor. “Not a good one though, eh? Jesus, mate, you look like you’re about to go an’ die on me.”

 

Jesse barely mustered up a smirk. “I’m fine. Just a cold.”

 

“…that ain’t no cold, padre.”

 

“I’m _fine_.”

 

Ah, Cass could already see where this was heading. Not that he was the least bit surprised. Jesse was stubborn in all things—wouldn’t be Jesse Custer if he weren’t—and apparently that carried right on over to admitting when he was actually sick. Cass had all of three seconds to be thankful that this time it wasn’t Jesse insisting that a damn bullet wound was ‘fine’... until he gave a cough so rattling it set Cass’ teeth on edge.

 

“If you were fine you ain’t any longer,” he said, suddenly grim. Cass hopped down from the counter. “Your lil’ ‘cold’ sounds a bit like Bronchitis to me.”

 

“You a doctor now? Don’t be stupid, Cass—”

 

He was already walking out the door though. Cass had a whole plan lined up: get the blankets, soda, all that other lovely stuff to help his human not die a miserable, phlegm-filled death; go out to get more of those very needed supplies; probably call Tulip or Emily because frankly even after a century Cass didn’t feel equipped to deal with a legit sick person. At least not a sick Jesse Custer.

 

Cass already had his cell in one hand and an ancient packet of saltines in the other when he stepped back into the kitchen. Good work so far

 

... except that the man who needed it was gone.

 

“Delirious son of a bitch.”

 

***

 

“Have you seen him?” Cass asked, frankly accosting the older woman who’d had the bad luck of passing him on the street. She had grocery bags filled with all manner of good, cold weather stuff—soups, bread, candies, cake mix—and Cass was half tempted to nick it off her if she didn’t bat him away with it first. In the end he just stared at her expectantly, maybe a little wild.

 

“Seen who?” she finally said. Slow. Tentative.

 

“Oh yeah. Right. Bit of an important bit of info that is, huh? Jesse. Jesse Custer. The preacher?”

 

The woman stared. “I know him, yeah...”

 

“But have you _seen_ him?”

 

“...no.”

 

“Then thanks for nothin’ lady,” and Cass pushed past her, stealthily grabbing a can of chicken noodle on his way. That was the soup business down, if only he could find the stupid man he needed to feed it to.

 

Jesse hadn’t been visible from the church front door and Cass would dearly love to know how a man that wobbly moved so fast. He hadn’t been at the bar trying to drown the sickness away. Hadn’t been at Tulip’s either, the house dark since she’d finally taken her uncle to the fancy rehab place, courtesy of money ‘borrowed’ with the help of Genesis. At a loss Cass cursed, tucked the soup into the waistband of his pants, and called the other only person who might be of some help.

 

“Do you know where our blasted preacher is?”

 

Emily was quiet on the other end, maybe a little stunned. To her credit though she picked herself up real quick. Cass heard the sound of a spoon clanking in a pot.

 

“Why? You two have a fight or something?”

 

“No, no, idiot man is sick and—”

 

Cass stopped, not because Emily had said anything, but because her silence suddenly seemed very different. A little too… knowing.

 

“Em?”

 

Her response came as a long, terribly drawn-out sigh. “He does this,” she groused, “every goddamn year.” The pot sounded like it was being slammed down. “Actually no, _multiple_ times a year. Flu, like, twice during the winter. Unbearable allergies in the summer. Constant colds in between. I’m pretty sure he had mono for a stretch two years back... but do you know what he does each and every time?”

 

Cass rubbed his eyes. “He powers through it.”

 

“Yep.”

 

They both fell silent this time. It was mutual and frustrating.

 

Emily finally made a humming noise. “I assume you checked the bar and Tulip’s?”

 

“Don’t insult me, luv.”

 

“And he’s not here either, least not yet...” Emily trailed off, thinking. “Did you _really_ check the church? How sick is he exactly?”

 

Cass stopped his pacing, staring hard and worrying his lip. He remembered coming back to the kitchen, noticing his missing padre, rushing out the door...

 

“I gotta call you back.”

 

“...yeah. Please do.”

 

***

 

Cass found him passed out and half under a pew, looking like he’d just collapsed there. Cass had run right by him on his way out.

 

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here, padre.”

 

Silly stories aside, vampires really didn’t get any more strength than the average Joe, which was counted as a damn crime in Cass’ book. No way he could lift Jesse all the way up to his room... but he could drag him to the living room couch. Cass took hold of Jesse by his boots, turning briefly to cluck at him.

 

“If you’re sick enough to scare me like that, a little bumps and dust aren’t gonna hurt you much more.”

 

Still, Cass set his jacket under Jesse’s head to make the ride a little smoother.

 

He’d never been much for comforting and such, mainly because he hadn’t had anyone do it for him since he was small, but you didn’t live a century without picking up at least _something_ along the way, even if you were still feeling iffy about it. So Cass hauled Jesse up onto the couch and stripped him of all the non-essentials (he’d burn the sweater later), piling up musty blankets in their wake. He was definitely pale, though luckily Jesse felt more clammy than outright feverish. It was while Cass was experimentally pressing a hand to his neck that Jesse’s eyes fluttered open.

 

Cass sat and leaned an elbow on the couch. “How many times have you pulled this on poor Emily, you bastard.”

 

“...shit.” Jesse groaned. His voice sounded about as rough as he probably felt.

 

“We’ve got two choices here, padre.” Cass patted the bundle of blankets fondly. “Either you put that macho masculinity of yours aside and let me care for you like the gorgeous nurse I am. Or, you get the exact same treatment… only hogtied to these cushions.”

 

Jesse would have rolled his eyes if he’d had the energy. “Macho masculinity?”

 

“I’m taking that as a yes, asshole. Here. I stole you soup.” Cass wiggled the can for inspection and stood as Jesse let out a stream of more coughs. He briefly ran his hand through Jesse’s sweaty hair and headed for the kitchen, trying to dredge up that mental list again of everything he’d need. More soup. Kleenex. Possible pan for vomiting. Rope if Jesse really did decide to play the martyr.

 

For now he was wiped though. Cass mirrored Emily’s movement and grabbed a pot for the soup. It was enough of a reminder that he pulled out his cell too, still listening hard in case Jesse called.

 

“Em? Yeah he’s fine. Well, relatively an’ all that. Darlin’, you are lucky that boyfriend status makes him my problem now... but no yeah, some ginger ale would be great if you can swing by...”

 

Cass craned his neck, just able to see a curved shape under the covers—Jesse now sound asleep. If Cass smiled sappily it wasn’t like there was anyone else to see.

 

Unless the emotion seeped into his voice.

 

“Me? Fuckin’ inconvenienced, I am. Honestly, I’ve got better things to do with my time. Don’t know why you’d assume otherwise...”

 

Cass stirred. He was careful with the heat and worked hard not to break up the noodles.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya... I suppose the bastard’s worth it.”


End file.
